


Stanford's Glasses

by aksarah



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:50:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aksarah/pseuds/aksarah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble about my headcanon for what happened to Stanford's glasses in regards to the portal. Set in the week after he fell through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stanford's Glasses

Stanford was hesitant to tell the enthusiastic young boy with the large, doe-like eyes much about him, so he simply said that he’d been wandering alone for the last week. He had no idea there was a colony of survivors nearby, but, yes, he would very much appreciate being taken there. A gust of wind blew, forcing Stanford to clutch his labcoat tighter around himself and the boy gasped. “Holy smokes, now you totally gotta come with me! He ain’t gonna believe this!” he cried, pulling Stanford by the arm through snow into a cave. It turned a few times and opened up on a small clearing. About two dozen tents dotted the glen not far from where the Town of Gravity Falls had once stood. It was fairly well hidden and Stanford grew more and more anxious to find out just what it was they were hiding from. The boy stopped suddenly and grabbed a large black man tending a fire in a metal drum by the shoulder. “Chin! Where’s the boss?” he demanded.

“His tent,” he said indignantly and hooked a mittened thumb toward the largest of the mish-mash of temporary structures in the camp. The boy thanked him and started off again.

“Ok, I’ll follow you, just stop dragging me around!” Stanford barked, swatting him with his free hand.

“Boss!!” the boy practically screamed as he dove into the tent. Stanford paused, then pushed the flap aside. It was hard enough to see without his glasses, but the inside of the tent was much darker than the bright, snowy landscape and his eyes struggled to adjust.

“What is it?” a voice barked back. “Somebody better be on fire, Tyler.”

“Sorry, Boss, but I figure you’d wanna be interrupted for this.” He made a slight bow and a sweeping gesture toward Stanford as he entered. “Look who’s back from the dead!”

“Back from the…?” The boss of their troop turned and stared. He was muscle-bound and bearded and his bare arms bore several scars and one fresh bandage. He wore a flak jacket and a semi-automatic weapon strapped across his beck. The light of recognition flashed in his eyes and he swung the gun forward and pointed it at Stanford. “Tyler, what the hell is wrong with you bringing that thing in here!” he shouted. Tyler screamed an apology and ran behind him.

“Whoa!” Stanford shouted back and raised his six-fingered hands. “I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m not a thing!”

“Prove it!” The boss’s voice cracked oddly.

At last, his eyes adjusted and Stanford squinted to make out the man’s face. “It can’t be…?”

“PROVE IT!” He gripped his weapon tighter and took a half-step forward.

“Uh… I… Oh god, I… but...” Stanford stammered, his heart pounding in his chest. He had to come up with something only the two of them would know and digging down through a decade of anger and pain would have been hard to do under normal circumstances; at the moment, it was excruciating. “We grew up on the beach and found a derelict ruined ship and fixed it up together for years but you were kicked out of the house and we never got to sail it!” Stanley didn’t relax his posture and Stanford started to panic. “I… I built an interdimensional portal and last week, I asked you to come help me protect it and we had a fight and I got pushed in and now I’m here and you’re… gone.”

A tense silence fell for a moment before tent flap parted behind him and another man entered, humming a tune and carrying a pot full of some sort of stew.

“What in tarnation is a goin’ on?” The short man with the light brown and grey beard looked from the gun to the newcomer and did his best not to drop the pot. “Stanford! Jumpin’ jehoshaphat I’m seein’ a ghost!”

Stanley slowly lowered his weapon and without taking his eyes off of the other man, reached into one of the pockets of his vest and pulled out something that Stanford couldn’t quite see from where he was standing. He extended his hand and Stanford gasped as he saw the glasses glint in the low light.

“No, Fidds, Tyler. It’s ok. It’s him,” he said quietly and shook the frames, insisting Stanford take them. “You were killed last week.”

He reached out, took them, opened the stems and noticed a crack in one of the lenses. He put them on and his other-worldly brother came into focus. Tears were running down his bearded face.


End file.
